Rainy Weather
by DJVennalyn
Summary: Human!AU. Arthur runs into Francis by accident in a flower shop one rainy day, and the red string of fate seems bent on keeping them together.


_**This was part of a Spring FrUK gift exchange on tumblr through frukheaven. this fanfiction was my gift for tumblr user transcasey, they're a wonderful blog and you all should check him out! My blog is theweepingerisol also, I sometimes will post stuff on there. The seed was something having to do with extreme weather, and here's the flower that bloomed out of it!**_

Arthur popped his collar up and squinted critically at the dreary sky. 'It's about to rain.' he thought to himself 'I shouldn't be surprised, this is London after all. I just wish I had brought an umbrella. I'm still fairly far from my house…' Arthur pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and checked it. Nothing but a few empty ticket stubs and crumpled receipts. He sighed and closed it with a snap. 'and I'm too broke to hail a cab.'

He started walking faster, hoping fruitlessly that he would make it back to his flat before the skies opened up. As if hearing him and mocking his efforts, a great clap of thunder rang out. Arthur made it past a few more store fronts before it started pouring heavy rain out of nowhere. "Oh, bollocks!" he exclaimed under his breath as he ducked into the nearest shop, slamming the door against the rain.

"Bonjour! Welcome to my humble abode. What brings you here on zhis fine day?" a heavily accented voice rang out from the back of the shop Arthur had just burst into.

' _Oh fantastic, a Frog.'_ Arthur turned from the door "I'm just resting here until the rain passes, I'll buy something if I have-" he stopped short. Flowers. Directly in his face. He was in a flower shop.

A man with curly blonde hair tied into a messy ponytail stepped around a large vase full of flowers that he was apparently arranging. He stopped and looked at Arthur for a long moment and then burst out laughing. "Oh mon dieu I apologize, it's just, you look like a drowned cat!" He backpedaled at Arthur's annoyed huff. "Non, non not like that. I meant you're so wet and angry looking!" he calmed down a bit. Arthur had his chin jutting out defiantly and his arms crossed. "I apologize, mon cher, that was rude of me. Come in!"

Arthur hesitated where he was for a moment, considering braving the rain again instead of dealing with this irritating Frenchman. Deciding that he in fact was not going back out in the rain, he walked stiffly farther into the shop. "I'm only here until the rain lets up."

The blonde laughed again, not unkindly. "Of course, you don't look particularly like the type to be hanging out in a flower shop." It was true. Arthur was wearing mostly black and was wearing a t-shirt that displayed a spiky-haired skull emblazoned with "The Exploited" over it. All in all, not the type of person you would expect to see in a flower shop. Arthur tugged awkwardly at the cuffs on his jacket, trying to will away the embarrassed blush on his face.

The man reached behind the counter and pulled out a red umbrella "Here, you can just borrow this umbrella. But-" he jerked it back as Arthur leaned forwards quickly to grab it. "Jou must tell me jour name." he finished with a small smile.

Arthur hesitated for a moment. "Arthur Kirkland, pleasure." he said with some reluctance, holding his hand out to shake.

"Francis Bonnefoy," he leaned down and took Arthur's hand, gently brushing his lips against it without ever breaking eye contact. "I believe the pleasure is all mine."

Arthur was stunned for a moment, his mouth hanging open until Francis placed the red umbrella in his hand. He snapped out of his trance "T-thank you. I'll just be going now." he stuttered, taking the umbrella and rushing out of the flower shop.

He paused when he was a ways away from the flower shop and around the corner, the rain pitter-pattering against the red umbrella. "What the bloody hell was wrong with me." Arthur said out loud, bonking his forehead lightly with the handle of the umbrella. After a moment of response but no one from the rain on the red umbrella, Arthur resigned himself to his fate of seeming like an idiot and continued the walk back to his apartment.

The next morning Arthur had managed to somewhat forget about his blunder in the flower shop as he unwrapped some leftover scones from the day before's breakfast to eat. He bit into one and held it between his teeth as he shuffled papers and filed sheet music, generally tidying up his messy apartment. He reached for a box of guitar strings resting on the edge of the table and overshot, knocking something over with a clatter. Swearing colourfully around his breakfast, he bent over to pick it up. Arthur picked it up, his swearing intensifying as water droplets splattered everywhere. It was the red umbrella he had borrowed from the Frenchman at the flower shop. ' _Ah yes, what was his name again? Francis, wasn't it?'_ he stared at the umbrella, then outside to the semi-blue sky. ' _Ah well, it's a fairly nice day out today I might as well return it while I can.'_ Arthur grabbed his messenger bag and left the apartment with the red umbrella, headed back towards the flower shop.

Fifteen minutes later he found himself standing in the middle of a quiet intersection near where he could have sworn the flower shop was, lost as lost could be and not willing to admit it. "I could've sworn it was around here somewhere…" he muttered to himself as he turned round and round, tapping the tip of the umbrella on the concrete. "Bollocks, I'm completely lost, aren't I?"

Right as he finally admitted that he had no idea where he was, a familiar voice rang out across the street. "Arthur, is zhat jou mon chou?"

Arthur spun around to locate the voice. "What does that even mean?" he asked irritably once he located the Frenchman.

Francis paused for a moment, thinking. "I believe the best translation would be something similar to 'my cabbage' or 'my pastry'?" he said hesitantly. "I'm still not very well versed in Anglais. That is, English."

Arthur scowled. "My cabbage? I am not your cabbage!" then, remembering why he was there in the first place, he held out the umbrella. "Anyway it's good I found you, I just came here to return your umbrella."

Francis laughed "Arthur, amour, we are no where near my shop! I only happened to be here because I was having breakfast in that cafe over there." Francis smiled. "Were you lost?"

Arthur's face reddened. "Of course not! I was just, just taking a little side trip is all. I wanted to take the scenic route! Here, I just came to return your umbrella." He shoved the umbrella roughly into Francis' hands.

"So," Francis began, "if you don't have any other more pressing matters, would you like to join me for a late brunch at the cafe?"

Arthur pretended to think about if he had anything to do for the rest of the day, which he of course didn't. At least not until later that night when he was playing at a local tavern, but that shouldn't interfere right now. "Well… I think I could manage to slip in a cup of tea and some scones. I am rather busy, though, you should be grateful that I'm taking time out of my busy schedule to eat with you."

Francis smiled knowingly and swept his arm out in a grand gesture towards the cafe. "After jou then?"

Several cups of tea later and it was reaching the time that Arthur really had to leave, or he might not have enough time to get across town with the traffic in time to practice before hand. He sighed and pushed his chair back. "It's been wonderful, but it's time for me to take my leave. Like I said earlier, I'm a very busy man with lots to do."

Francis pouted "What could be so important that jou 'ave to be taken away from me so soon?"

"If you must know, I'm playing with my band at a bar across town this evening. The traffic will likely be horrible and we have to set up and practice before hand, so I really must go get ready." Arthur prickled, waiting for the inevitable question, and surprised when it didn't come.

"Jou 'ave a band? That's amazing! Where are jou playing today, I should come watch!" Francis gushed.

Arthur looked at him in surprise, trying to tell if it was sincere or not. His face seemed earnest, and his eyes were practically sparkling with excitement. "Well… um, that is to say," Arthur's brow furrowed "If you were to want to come it's at the Pirate's Crown at seven tonight."

Francis jumped to his feet, shaking the table. "Then I will be there! Now go, go to your rehearsal. I will take up the payment," he said with a wink.

Arthur considered protesting, but let it be as he was late. He said his goodbyes and hailed a cab back to his flat, not chancing getting lost this time. The entire ride he couldn't make himself stop thinking about that maddening Frenchman. "No, stop it. You need to focus." he grumbled to himself as they pulled up to his complex, avoiding the curious gaze of the cabbie.

"Arthur, check the mic will'ya?" the Scottish singer shouted from across the cramped stage. Arthur shot him a friendly middle finger that was easily returned with the Scott's spare hand. Arthur pulled the mic stand down to his height and leaned into it.

"Testing, one, two, Alistair is a shirty prat, one, two." Arthur laughed into the microphone and dodged the crumpled napkin Alistair threw at him.

"Sod off, lil' brother," Alistair growled playfully at him.

The door flew open and a man dressed in dark green and managing to make it look punk swaggered in, soaking wet. "Oy, mates, it's pouring out there. I dunnae if we're gonna get a good crowd today or not." he slid onto the side of the stage and grabbed his bass, beginning to tune.

Arthur scoffed and put the mic back in it's stand. "Calm yourself Adrian, that's not gonna stop a man who wants a drink. If anything it'll make 'em more stir-crazy." he laughed it off. His bandmates let out short laughs and continued setting up the stage. Their drummer banged experimentally on his drums a few times, and Adrian plucked at his newly tuned strings.

"Well mates I suppose there's nothing more we can do 'bout that rain, so let's do the one thing we can do; play!"

It was halfway through the set and Arthur was catching himself glancing around more and more frequently, looking for a certain blonde to show up in the crowd. Alistair was talking to the crowd, making jokes and generally fulfilling the duty of the frontman of a band while the rest of them got drinks and tuned their instruments for the second half of the set. The door to the bar flew open, and Arthur's head snapped up. He searched the crowd coming in to get out of the rain for a flash of blonde hair. He was about to give up, thinking that Francis wasn't coming after all, when one last man wrapped in a blue jacket rushed in. He threw back the hood to glance around, revealing a head of curly blonde hair.

His eyes met Arthur on the stage and his face lit up with a grin. He began making his way through the crowded room to stand in front of the stage, and the drummer counted in the song. Arthur forced himself to tear his eyes away from Francis' face and focused on playing the best he ever had. He listened to the keyboard playing and waited for the moment he needed to come in—his time to shine.

After they finished playing, Arthur stayed on stage a moment, carefully packing up his beloved six-string. Alistair and Adrian were by the bar already, having a few drinks and flirting with ladies and men alike who had come to see them play. Francis stood at the edge of the stage and waited patiently. "So, you came after all." Arthur jumped down next to him.

Francis nodded with excitement. "Oui, 'ow couldn't I? I did say I would, did I not?" he smiled. ' _He has a wonderful smile…'_ Arthur thought to himself. "Jou were trés magnifique! That means 'very magnificent' in French."

"Thank you. I was almost worried that you wouldn't come tonight." Arthur said.

Francis put a hand to his heart in mock offense. "Mon dieu! As if I would ever miss this for the entire world! Why, François Hollande himself couldn't stop me!" he lowered his hand "Except traffic. It appears that the weather can work together with cars to make it nearly impossible to get here." He laughed.

Arthur grinned. "That so? Well the least I can do for your troubles is treat you to a drink. S'on me if you're interested. Take it as repayment for this morning."

Arthur rolled over and groaned, pulling his blankets over his head. "Why won't the light shut up…" after a few minutes, he sighed in resignation and crawled out of bed. Stumbling to the bathroom, he splashed water on his face. "Nnnnn… why do I ever drink… I'm completely pissed… I am never drinking again…"

He staggered into the kitchen, slamming on the sink and filling up a glass of water. He chugged the entire thing and then filled up another. "Why does this always happen?" he asked himself. "I should probably go check on Fran-" he stopped mid sentence. "I don't know where he lives…"

Arthur rubbed his head. "I mean, I suppose the best place to look for him would be the flower shop, but I don't know if he would go in after all that drinking… well, at the very least I can ask someone there where he lives."

Arthur stood in front of the flower shop, nursing a cup of Earl Grey and a massive headache. He pushed in the door, his forehead wrinkled in pain from a headache he was nursing. The bell tingled cheerily as he walked in, but even that little noise was too much for him this morning.

Francis wasn't behind the counter, but a quiet-looking blonde was sitting behind the counter, reading a thick novel. Arthur approached the counter, and he didn't look up from his book. Arthur cleared his throat. No response. He coughed again, louder. Still no response. Finally, he said "Excuse me?" and the youth jumped hastily to attention, dropping his book in the process.

He nervously adjusted his glasses, and cast his gaze downward. "So sorry, I didn't mean to make you wait, It was just such a good book and I was so engrossed in it… how can I help you?" he asked quietly.

Arthur set his cup down. "I'm sorry this is a bit of an odd question, but I was wondering if you could tell me the address of Francis Bonnefoy? We were out last night, and I just wanted to check on him to make sure he is ok." he asked.

The youth brightened. "Ah, yes, Papa Francis! Let me write that address down for you! You're Arthur, I assume?" he asked as he rifled around for a pencil and paper. Arthur nodded. "Ah, Papa was talking about you the other day!"

"All good things, I hope." Arthur grumbled. The youth smiled knowingly and responded by sliding the paper across the table. Arthur pocketed it and turned to head out, mug back in hand. "Thanks mate, I owe you one."

Arthur stood in front of the apartment door, checking the address to be sure. A note of the bottom of the paper said that there was a key taped to the bottom of the mailbox and that the deadbolt would be locked also. He followed the instructions the note provided, and pushed open the door. "Francis? Hello? I came to check to make sure you were okay, the nice boy at the flower shop gave me the address." he entered quietly and looked around. The room was simple, in colors of cream and mocha. He gently closed the door behind him and snuck down the hall. All of the doors were open showing well-lit rooms, one of which seemed to be hockey and Canadian themed.

Arthur reached the door at the end of the hall and knocked, waiting for a response. There was an audible rustle of sheets and a weak "Come in, mon cher." from the other side of the door.

Arthur pushed open the door and walked in. The room was surprisingly empty, a statue of the eiffel tower and the french flag on the wall the only defining things about this room. "Francis, it's Arthur. I just came to check on you, do you need anything?" Arthur asked gently.

Francis turned over in surprise. "Oh, Arthur. I thought it was Mathieu. Since you're offering I could use some coffee. I didn't drink nearly as much as you so I'm fairly alright. Here," he stood up and climbed out of bed. "I'll show you to the kitchen. I feel we could both use some coffee, non?" He walked over to where Arthur was standing. "Come, It's just this way."

They walked the short distance to the kitchen in silence. Francis pulled down two mugs and set them on the counter next to the Keurig machine. He loaded it with a French Roast cartridge and placed a mug under the spout. They leaned against the counter in a companionable silence. The light flashed, showing that the coffee was ready, and Francis filled up the two mugs. He turned to Arthur and handed him one, "So, you were worried about me?" he batted his eyes jokingly Arthur.

Arthur felt his face heating up. "I mean I didn't know how much you drank or what happened to you after the third drink or so so I thought that it would be best if I checked on you." he stuttered.

Francis smiled. "But to go through all the trouble of going to the flower shop to ask for my address? You must have been very worried!" he nudged gently at Arthur.

Arthur looked away. "Yeah, I was. I didn't know how you were doing." He took a sip of the hot coffee and peered at Francis from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction.

Francis was speechless for a moment. "Mon amour, you do care for me!" he exclaimed joyously, enclosing Arthur in a tight embrace. Arthur squirmed, holding his coffee far away from their bodies.

"Wanker! You could make me spill the coffee!" Francis released him and sent him a winning smile.

"But I did't, non?" Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from him. Francis laughed, seeing how his ploy had worked. "So, mon amour," he began "since you have professed your undying love for me…" Arthur tried to protest in vain and was shushed. "Since you have professed your undying love for me, I think it is only right that I take you out on a date." He smiled again, his gaze entreating Arthur to say yes.

Arthur's jaw dropped against his will, and he closed it quickly with a snap. "Well, I suppose. If you insist."

Francis clapped his hands together. "Fantastic! And it only makes sense that after last night you should treat me to breakfast straight away."

Arthur balked at him "Right now though? It's so early and we're both somewhat hungover and-" he was cut off by Francis laughter.

"Mon amour, it is almost noon! We will be lucky if we find any place still serving breakfast even now at a cafe or bakery! All of that aside though, coffee and relaxation is just what we need to cure a hangover headache."

Arthur shook his head in resignation. "Fine. But this time, I'm paying." he set his mug down on the table with a clunk. Francis delicately set his mug down beside Arthur's. "Let me rinse these real quick for you and then we can go." Arthur scooped up both of the mugs and moved them over to the sink, turning the water on and letting it flow over the insides and out, pushing away all of the remaining coffee. Arthur turned to Francis, "Where do these go?" he asked, holding the dripping mugs aloft.

"Just set them in the sink for now mon cher, I'll wash them completely later." he smiled charmingly, setting his hand over Arthur's and pushing them back into the sink. Arthur shrugged and set them down. "Now come Arthur, I know a good little cafe near here."

Arthur and Francis started seeing each other more and more often. Arthur became a frequent visitor at the flower shop, cutting striking figure against all of the bright flowers. He would flirt with Francis and make jokes with Matthew when he was in, slowly getting to know them both more. Francis became The band's number one fan, coming to every show rain or shine. There were many more mornings when Arthur and Francis woke up completely hungover and went out for coffee together, and it almost became a tradition. After the tenth time of needing to borrow the red umbrella, Francis finally bought Arthur his own (although Arthur still borrows Francis' umbrella from time to time) for when he wasn't around. Arthur spent holidays with in France with Matthew and Francis with their family, meeting everyone. Francis' mother approved wholeheartedly of him despite his punk nature, and spoiled him more than he should be. Arthur finally had the family he had always wanted.

On Francis and Arthur's two-year anniversary, the couple took a small trip together to France for a few days, just the two of them. They were standing on top of the Eiffel Tower at night enjoying the fireworks from across town, when Arthur disturbed the peaceful moment. "Francis, there's something I need to ask you." Francis turned towards him, his hand over his mouth as Arthur dropped down onto one knee. "We've been dating for two years now. We've had our ups, and lord knows we've had our downs and arguments, but I still wouldn't trade any of it for the world." He held Francis' hands in his own. "I feel like your family is my family, and I've spent more time than I ever thought I would in a bloody flower shop of all places! I've done some ridiculous things just to get a chance to see you, like the time I thought I lost my guitar pick and made you help me look for it until we finally found it in my case where it belonged, and I've also done a fair amount of avoiding when we were having arguments. But through all of that, there's one thing I've never told you. Francis Bonnefoy, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't care what anyone says, you're the only one for me. I love you with all of my heart. So will you, Francis Bonnefoy, do me the honor of becoming my husband?" he asked, pulling out a shiny red box and opening it, revealing a simple golden band inside.

Francis just nodded, tears clogging his throat too much to speak immediately. "Oui, oui. I will." he choked out. Arthur barely managed to get the ring on his finger before he jumped to his feet and threw his arms around him, trying to convey all of the love he felt for his Brit in that one single motion. "Je t'aime, Arthur."

"I love you too, Francis."


End file.
